


Little Lady

by EgoDominusTuus, ProwlingThunder



Series: Like Good Soldiers [10]
Category: Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: 16 is Adulthood in Lamplight, Abuse of the Packbond, Can't Trust Mungos, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Deaths, Coercion, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Dependancy, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Grooming, Gunners, Isolation, Lamplight Kids have weird upbringings, Lamplighters are woefully underprepared for real life, Little Lamplight's Education System, M/M, Mac's First Year in the Wasteland, Mac’s childhood wasn’t sunshine and daisies, Manipulation of the Packbond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Packbond, Porn With Plot, Potential Drug Abuse, Psychic Wolves, Psychic Wolves For Lupercalia, Rape, Sexual Coercion, Sympathy Pains, Verbal Abuse, Wolfbitches, Wolfheat, dubcon, labor, noncon, wolf pups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/pseuds/EgoDominusTuus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left Little Lamplight, and life spiraled out from there. (Companion Piece to <i>My Favorite Word</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EgoDominusTuus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgoDominusTuus/gifts).



> There are unmarked time jumps in this fic. Ask and receive clarification of things!
> 
> -
> 
> The events of this work transpire exactly the same in the normal verse, minus the wolves.

Sixteen was the limit in Little Lamplight; he had no illusions that some of the younger kids might want him to stay, but sixteen was the limit for a reason. The laws hadn’t changed in MacCready’s tenure, and his successor Coppertin was actually more likely to enforce them than he had been. _No Mungos in Lamplight;_ that was just how things were.

He spent his last week in the armory, helping Haze update his ledger and showing little George how to take apart a basic rifle and put it back together again. George sat on the table next to him, deciding _this piece_ time and time again, becoming surer and surer the more he did. Four years old with Princess’ sharp eyes, he’d make an excellent gate guard in a few more years.

Princess, who’d left last year for her Sixteenth, and George had been left behind by a mother who hadn’t looked back.

MacCready wanted to take him with him, but after they had eaten the cake and everybody walked with him to the Gate, Haze held onto George’s hand to keep him there, and Coppertin peered at MacCready from behind the iron of a rifle, face set hard in a way he would have been proud of, if he weren’t being kicked from the only home he had ever known and the little boy he’d helped raise from infancy wasn’t being taken away in the same fel swoop.

But mungos couldn’t be trusted, especially not with the little ones. And that’s who MacCready was now. His heart ached for it, but he’d nodded, sharp and in understanding, and made his way for the mouth of the cavern. Biwwy’s gift had been a sleek and shiny .10mm pistol. He raised it to the side as he walked out of the lights, a wordless salute to anyone who bothered to watch.

Maybe he’d run into them again out here, and maybe he wouldn’t. The only thing he did know was that he would never be able to come back here, no matter what. Too many memories...

He looked back, in the dim starlight, to see Haze scooping George up, and Coppertin closing the Gate. But at least he’d looked back.

\--

Two months in the Gunners was hell, but he could see marked improvements from his time already.

He had never been particularly chubby-- food went to the younger kids first, in Lamplight, even though Eclair tried to extend their supplies by making stew as often as possible. _Stew_ hardly made a lot of fat. The medics had clucked at him like overbearing docs when Jack had escorted him up, and the cook had been piled his portions full with a firm, if somewhat poisonous, expression, threatening bodily harm if any went to waste. Weirdly there was _muscle_ on him now. Some of it was from those precious few months as a caravan guard, but most of it was from the demanding physical exercises the trainers were putting him and the other recruits through.

Mungos, the lot of them, just like he was. And if he disliked the instructions, well, he was usually too tired at sunset to give a damn about anything except Casey and Jackson, who usually stayed up to _talk_ instead of _sleep_.

MacCready didn’t sleep well without the glowing roof of Lamplight over his head, the security of solid stone. He had no idea how Casey and Jackson managed to function every morning without a mug of swill coffee, because he sure as fuck couldn’t.

He nudged a piece of deadwood into the fire and waited for the pot to start boiling. It might have been easier to make one of the jackasses do it, but he wanted coffee at some point, not tar. Casey couldn’t cook and Jackson _wouldn’t_ cook. Fuck, but he missed Eclair some mornings.

“-- _and_ I heard they’re bringing a round of puppies down from Theta. Supposedly if a pup takes to us, we’ll be real Gunners.”

Jackson made an inquisitive sound. MacCready poked at the fire again, trying to stay awake. “Yeah? When’s that supposed to happen?”

“Later tonight, I think. Maybe tomorrow? Who cares, man; we’re going to get our own tags and everything! Real beds, Jackson, _real beds_.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a real bed…”

They were saved from hot sticks to the eyeballs by blessed coffee, mana from wherever. It was a gift to mankind. He poured himself a tall tin cup of it and tuned out dumbass recruit one and two. Coffee, fuck yes.

He was finishing his second cup when the call for inspection came. The training officer had probably been close enough to see his dumbass teammates not picking up camp for the last thirty minutes, but they were hardly being ranked on team effort and he had already picked up his space, packed his rucksack.

He poured the man a cup of coffee anyway. It wasn’t as fun, to drink it alone, and if at some point in life he had to kill the guy, it would go a lot quicker if he thought MacCready was a friend of some sort.

Instructor Thrace took it, surveying the camp, noting MacCready and his things, Jackson and Casey and _their_ things. When he finished the cup, he passed it back to him, frowning intently. “Grab your kit and come with me. You two stay here and get this camp in order; I want it gone when I come back for you.”

They snapped off salutes. MacCready… didn’t.

It didn’t appear to make a difference.

MacCready hoisted his pack up onto his shoulders, falling into step behind him. They headed up the hill to the lift, just far enough away to be out of sight of the camp he’d been crashing at for the last few weeks. At the top of the lift were the remains of the old highway, which held the Gunner’s proper.

There were mattresses, coolers, a _roof_ \-- not as good as a cave ceiling, but at least it gave protection from the rain, even if it didn’t do jack shit for a radstorm-- and the wolf-dens. Or, at least, that was what he’d heard them called, actual legitimate steel and wood constructs to provide almost total coverage, each one big enough for a couple wolves and grown adults to climb in and pile together.

Thrace looked at him, then motioned to the centermost den. “Drop your gear, go see if anybody takes to you.”

Two cups of coffee and he was still too tired to be disgruntled about the ordering thing. He sat his rucksack down on a nearby crate and moved forward. He had to duck down pretty far to get inside, but at least he didn’t have to go all the way down on his knees.

Even before his eyes adjusted, the rest of his senses attuned themselves; the scent of musty blankets in a too-warm den, the sound of scuffling bodies too small to be the grown wolves the Gunners ran with. When his eyes adjusted he saw the dusty gray male that belonged to the instructor, and a half-dozen puppies of varying colors.

They were young, only a couple months old, and nobody paid MacCready any mind as he climbed into the den, settling down on a blue blanket depicting rocket ships. He greeted the grown wolf for the same reason he gave his brother coffee, because it was a thing Mungos did with each other, and Chicago greeted him back. Then he righted a pair of tumbling puppies. They realized he was there as soon as he touched them and turned, yipping and spilling all over themselves to get to him, to say hello.

One of them sat back on it’s haunches, a dark shadow in the low light with eyes that glowed like cave-moss. He reached out and offered his hand to the whelp, palm up, his other hand being tugged on by the rest of the litter. She leaned forward, delicate, like the ladies in old books; touched her nose to the tips of his fingers.

For a moment, MacCready was back in Lamplight, on a cool damp morning in the spring, when the moss was rife and the poisonous belladonna was opening it’s colors. He could smell the rank of the cave pools, the spores in the air.

Then the pup laid it’s head-- _her_ head-- into his palm and stared up at him. Cautiously, he scratched at her throat. “Aren’t you just a dame? Pretty little lady.” She yipped, licking at his wrist. It was filthy from days on the ground, and he wasn’t going to wash with his canteen water when he needed to _drink_ that. He’d just have to wait for the rain. “Can I call you Lady?”

She followed his arm and crawled up into his lap, nipping at the noses of her brothers and sisters that hadn’t already lost interest in him. They went back to tumbling over each other, the novelty of a new person wearing off, but the joy was infectious.

Those eyes burned like a radiation storm, looking up at him. He reached up to scratch her behind the ears. “Guess so. I’m MacCready.” _Lady_ tipped her nose up and brushed his own, and there was an explosion of gunpowder in his head, heated cordite and fire sharp and poignant enough to rock his head back.

He knew that scent. He had smelled it so often since he was a child. The smell of a fresh-fired rifle.

 _His_ scent.

The instructor rapped on the outside of the den, metal shuddering. It wouldn’t fall down, MacCready knew, and it was thick enough to muffle a lot of the sound, but he could hear it anyway.

“Come on out, boy; I’m told you got yourself a puppy.”

He glanced down at Lady in his lap. She watched him expectantly, exuberance blowing up in the back of his mind, in his heart. Of _course_ he had; he was _hers_. And where he went, she would follow, like a proper lady.

\--

At six months old, Lady’s favorite game was _going hunting_ , and they were fucking damned good at it, an elegant synchronized machine of teeth and bullets, laying waste to anything beyond the business end of his rifle. It was a thrill he hadn’t had, back before the Gunners. And even still, most of the time he was perched back on a ridge, peering down his sight to take them out before the enemy ever managed to figure out they were there.

But sometimes, like now, the ruins were too tight for a sniper to be of any real use. Moments like now were times of movement, jogging after Lady’s easy lope as they cleared streets and alleyways. The area was a nest for ferals, which made multiple sweeps necessary, even with wolves. They were all gaunt and spindly thin, capable of getting into locations MacCready had long since grown out of and Lady was working on.

He’d seen them climb out of sewer drains. More of them in the last twenty minutes than he had ever wanted to see, or ever wanted to see again. Lady couldn’t even sink her teeth into them, for the same reason she had to take care not to get over-run or get caught in the blow-back. The memory of rad-sickness still burned his in veins, several months later. He wanted her to have to go through it even less than he wanted a repeat event, and ferals were all rotted teeth and blackened gums, bleeding radiation. At least he hadn’t run into any of the fuckers that glowed.

But Lady could smell ghouls coming, and she thought they were finally gone now. All that was left was a final sweep to ensure the area was secure and make his way to the rendezvous with the rest of the squad near the center.

They moved in tandem, poking into some of the buildings as they passed them, picking their way careful through the rubble. There wasn’t much to find. Anything that had been sane had either fled when the ferals moved in, or else were the ferals, at which point it didn’t matter either way. But they hadn’t left much behind, either; mostly empty tin cans and bottles, which were useless to him. He usually left them where they lay, or else kicked them aside to clear a path for Lady to walk behind him.

His only score was an old issue of _Guns and Bullets_ , mostly intact. He had the right to claim it as part of his payment for the job, being the one who found it. There wasn’t anything else really _interesting_ \--

He turned at a corner and stopped, stunned. A small figure was crouched nearby, a girl-child by the looks of her dress, and she sat there blowing at her knees. They were scratched pretty bad, skin thin enough blood soaked to the surface, but when she registered his shadow standing at the end of the alley, she jerked and scrambled to face him.

A street rat; a tiny little waif, only about as old as George… and the look of fear in her was a knife in his chest. They stared at each other for several long heartbeats, all three of them staying perfectly still; if they were careful, maybe he and Lady wouldn’t spook her too bad.

Maybe--

“Yo MacCready! Did you find something down here?”

\--or not. The child jerked, scrambling higher up on top of the small mountain of rubble she sat on. She slipped and caught herself on her knees, if just barely, and he looped his rifle strap around his wrist and held his hands to the side, palms facing her so she knew he was empty.

“Woah there, easy, easy-- I’m not here to hurt you.” He had to keep his voice pitched not to carry, because he could hear Austin coming up the main road to find him. Let him know the area was secured, probably. He lowered himself to the ground, edging closer; she sat atop a fallen metal beam and watched him. He must have looked like some sort of really trustworthy demon, though, because she waited.

“Are you okay?” She didn’t answer him, and he wasn’t sure why that stung. It wasn’t surprising, at any rate. “Does it hurt? I’ve got some water and a rag. I’m sure it’d feel a lot better clean, don’t you?” Dark eyes watched him warily, flicking to the gun looped to his wrist for a moment and then back to his hands in a rush, following them into his coat as he pulled out a bottle of water and the handkerchief from one of the deep pockets in his uniform. He showed them both to her, slow and deliberate so she could see that was all there was.

Her brows pinched together, but she stayed still as he approached, let him settle at a lower level on the pile.

“Damn it, MacCready! Answer me!”

Not a lot of time, he decided, fingers working to open the water and wet the rag down. He didn’t wring it out, touching it sopping against the knee closest to him with just the tips of his fingers. When she didn’t protest or move away, he figured it was okay to wash it and her other knee too, wiping away blood and dirt. While he worked, he wondered where her parents were; didn’t children have them, outside of Lamplight? Mungos dedicated to their welfare?

He had no idea. Maybe they were no longer among the list of sane people. She couldn’t be blamed; she was just a little thing, and the dress looked like it had seen better days, but she wasn’t that old. The little ones were always the ones who had trouble looking after themselves. That she was alive and looked decently well-fed at all was a miracle in and of itself, hinting at resourcefulness and a will live, the ability to scavenge.

But what was she even doing out here? How long had it been since there were _people_ here?

“Hows that feel now? Bet it still stings a bit. It probably will for a while, but you’ll be okay.” She must have been trying to climb the rubble and get out of the killzone, only to slip and land hard. Lady’s senses were sharp and he could smell low panic from her, the scent of everywhere she’s tried to scramble for purchase. “You have to keep it clean, okay? But then it will get better.” He rinsed the handkerchief off and squeezed out what was left. Her dark eyes were riveted on the little green square, watching it move, tracking it, and he didn’t even think about it when he laid it on her knee and let of it go entirely.

He saw her eyes flash up at him, quick as a heartbeat, and her tiny fingers snatch the square off her leg and to her chest at once, her expression apprehensive of him and stubborn all at once. Immediate ownership. It was a good thing he wasn't fool enough to actually want it back; poor kid was never going to return it to him.

That was fine. It was a gift for her anyway.

Lady's ears twitched, funneling him the ghost-brush sound of Austin and her wolf coming up, so he stood up from derelict concrete, though he only made it a few paces before she rounded the corner directly front of him.

She caught sight of the girl behind him, and her fingers fell for her gun in a flash-- he slid himself sideways so she didn't have a clear shot, a sudden spike of panic driving itself down into his chest in a sharp _no_. Her eyes narrowed on him, lips twisted into an expression he couldn't quite comprehend. "We've got orders to clear the area."

The words echoed between them across the packbond, prickled in his memories; _clear the area, clear, clear--_

He had come here to kill feral ghouls. Austin bit down on the letter of the law instead, and he knew-- he could feel it-- she _wanted to--_

 _No_ . He wouldn't _let her_. "I don’t kill kids.”

“You’re going to stand between me and a whelp?” Austin’s face twisted into an ugly snarl, and she stepped forward to meet him, fingers snagging the scarf around his throat in a tight grip. He often forgot how _tall_ Austin was; she was taller than most of the men, and she had at least a head on him. He had to crane his neck back to look her in the eyes. “Move or I’ll make you, _little bitch_.”

There was an undercurrent in her tone that made all the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. There had been people summoning him that way since he had climbed out of the wolf-den with Lady. Some of them were joking, teasing things, eyes alight with a mischief he could understand; some of them were sharp looks and fae smiles he couldn’t, expressions prickling over his skin like they had finally seen him for the first time. But it was just a word, just something people called to rib him.

Austin looming over him was the first time it sent a chill down his bones, prickling _danger, watch out_ to his senses.

He narrowed his eyes and shifted the nose of Biwwy’s gift down, finding a gap in her armor that let him dig it into her belly in a pointed threat, his teeth set hard; _try it and_ **_die_ **.

He could feel the little girl’s eyes on his back, wide, boring to him, and all he could think was _Austin wants to kill her_ , and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her passed him, no matter what.

He could feel Lady behind him, pacing the width of the alley to bar Austin’s brother, snapping at his nose whenever he tried to slip passed her. He was bigger than Lady, older; smaller than most of the other males he’d seen with Gunners, but Lady didn’t have any of them backing her, and all that meant was that she’d have to dive even lower to go for the throat--

He went for it, determination thrumming through the packbond, and Lady ducked under his lunge to snap her jaws around him, barely catching. It was enough to distract him, and MacCready felt a sharp pain in his thigh as he caught Lady’s leg and sank his teeth in, drawing blood--

Lady’s rage was a bright hot ember in his mind. He couldn’t track her movements, but he could feel more streaks of pain blooming quickly, pooling fire in his veins. Austin’s smile had turned open-mouthed, and it took all his weight rooted _right here_ not to get shoved aside; he had practice being an immovable object, and he had a reason _not to be moved_ \--

“ _I’m going to let him shred her to ribbons_ ,” Austin promised, her voice low and sharp beneath the snaps and snarls of the wolves. She’d leaned down, moved forward, invading his space and throwing up warning flags in the back of his mind. Some thought trickled through to him, snuck up on his hindbrain, and he knew it was Austin too, even though he couldn’t comprehend anything more than the sense of overpowering _threat_.

 _We’ll put you_ **_both_ ** _in place._

He dug his pistol in deeper, voice frozen; his own rage, or Lady’s, or both. Cold fear, for Lady and the girl. He didn’t know where it came from. They couldn’t let them pass. “Call him off, or I fill your belly full of shrapnel.”

Her eyes glittered at him. “You don’t have the balls, bitch.”

The Gunners would murder him, if he did. Shooting one of their own was tantamount to treason. But he didn’t care, letting the knowledge seep through the bond back to her. _Try me_. “Stomach wounds bleed like a waterfall,” he promised. “And they hurt. It might go all the way through you-- but it would probably catch inside, and rattle. The shrapnel’ll poison your blood, and you’ll die a slow death, belly swelling green.”

He had seen it before, and he let the knowledge that he had fall to her, remembering Tulip, bright little Tulip, slipping out from the Gate to help a scavenger tripped over a stone in the middle of the attack. A blast of the raider’s muzzle, and so _much blood_ , the way she had screamed and fallen. He remembered hauling her himself to the Clinic, to Lucy, and the way she had screamed the whole time until pain as Lucy tried to dig the metal out shoved her into unconsciousness, having to hold her down. The way the wounds had oozed, skin too pale, too thin, and the splotches of green and purple. The fever that had wracked her body, too weak to even wake.

She had never woken up again.

Her body was in Lamplight’s fungus pools, where everybody went when they died.

Austin’s eyes widened, and he twisted the muzzle of the pistol against her flesh. Bullets to the stomach were the worst way to go, and he _knew it_ . “Call him _off_.”

“Red,” If she was afraid, her voice didn’t show it, and MacCready _hated_ her for that. Peripherally he could see her gun hand, held out by her side, and the wolf’s name through the pack-sense filled MacCready’s mouth so full with warm copper he wanted to vomit. “ _Heel_.”

Jaws around his Lady’s foreleg left, but the pain lingered in his arm. In his mind he could see the wolf draw away from her, slinking back to his sister and licking blood off his lips all the while. Austin’s gaze into his own was hard and full of promise, but her fingers unthreaded from his scarf, his throat. “I’m not done with you yet. Don’t think this is over.”

 _Yes_ , he thought fiercely, _it is_.

Austin backed away from him, and the gray wolf followed after her. They turned their backs, like they thought not watching him would keep him from pulling the trigger-- and it wouldn’t, what _did_ was the awareness of the rest of the team too close, who’d never let it stand if he killed one of their hunters-- and then they turned the corner and were gone from his sight.

He shoved his pistol away and turned. The little girl was long gone, and his chest twisted with the awareness that she had escaped, the pride and the sadness of it. He hoped that she was smart enough to know not to trust mungos.

Lady licked at her wounds. He fetched the can of purified water from it’s place and went to work putting her back together. There’d be no lasting damage, muscle wise, but fuck if Red hadn’t bitten her a shit ton of times, and MacCready didn’t know what sort of venom was brewing in his mouth.

They made it to the rendezvous closer to dark than he would have liked. Captain Yancy greeted him, sharp eyes raking over Lady and her wounds. His brother sniffed at her, even though Lady limped away from him. “What happened?”

“We ran into a bit of resistance. It’s fine.”

Yancy frowned, and MacCready fervently hoped he believed him. If they figured out he’d threatened Austin… “Hmph. Well, come get something to eat, get your strength back up. We’re moving out in the morning.”

He looked over at the fire and frowned. Austin was cooking… _Don’t think this is over._ His gut twisted. “Actually Lady and I aren’t hungry. We’re going to go ahead and find a spot to settle down, if we’re not on watch?”

That frown deepened. “I think considering the circumstances, you two are excused from duty for the night. Get some sleep.”

The glory of the pack-bond was, they didn’t mind if he slept out of sight. MacCready found a spot where a stone wall had collapsed over a car, leaving only a small, narrow path in and out, but a crevice large enough and safe enough for them to rest easy. Lady went in first, intent on testing the security of it, and when he felt her worm her way into the car’s back seat, he shoved his own things inside and joined her. Being small was one of the best things in life. Austin and her brother were too big to follow them in here, and so was everybody else.

He slept easy with stone above their heads.

\--

Showers were a luxury rarely afforded in Lamplight, but they were fucking perfect. Mostly there hadn’t been enough rainfall to put water into the system Locktight had put together, back when MacCready was a boy, and so everybody subsisted on baths most of the time. The water stretched further that way, and they had needed every drop to go as far as possible.

That wasn’t so, here, and MacCready couldn’t help but be selfishly grateful for that. His uniform was beyond filthy as fuck, and he wasn’t much better. He’d been covered in dirt so long he didn’t remember what color his hair was anymore.

He thought it was yellow. Lady thought it was yellow. The only way they could be _sure_ was to wash it off. And the showers, fucking hell yes, were empty.

He dropped his fresh clothes on the bench with his towel and worked himself out of his soiled ones, toeing the boots underneath and kicking the rest of the gear next to him. Jacket, scarf, socks, shirt, belt, pants. Then, when he was finally naked, he knelt and took off Lady’s leather collar. Her pelt had gone brown with Commonwealth dust too, and that was just unacceptable.

“This is getting a bit small, isn’t it, Lady.. Guess we’re going to have to find you a proper adult collar, hm? Maybe in one of those pre-war shops, or we can stop a caravan...” She licked his face and he laughed, pushing her snout away. “No, seriously, bath first. Under the faucet, here, Lady.”

Technically he wasn’t supposed to have her in here. But like fuck was he going to get clean before Lady did, and there was plenty of water collected to bathe the two of them. The heat of the day had probably left it warm, too, assuming nobody else had used it all already. He had taken cold showers before, in the autumn rains, and while it wasn’t fun that didn’t mean it wasn’t doable.

He snagged a bar of soap and a coarse rag from the supply locker before he followed Lady over, twisting on the bar that let the water run. She tipped her nose up into it, radiation-eyes closed as she pranced under the deluge. He shoved his supplies onto the shower rack and took a minute to rake most of the dust out of his own hair, letting it muddy and swirl away. Bits of Lady’s black were already coming back.

Raking the thickest of mud off his wolf’s body was a task, and she leaned into his touch as he scratched it away. When he was finished, she waited for him to soap her down, which took a bit of time, most of the soap, and required turning off the spray until she was ready to be rinsed off again. Nobody came to investigate what was taking him so long in the shower, though, so he was perfectly content to let it happen as it was.

When she was washed and rinsed, he kicked her out of the shower proper, and she shook herself off and settled down for a nap in the corner, warmed and clean. He watched her for a moment, fond, and then settled to get _himself_ cleaned up. He was quicker at this, more efficient; he had less _hair_ and body mass than Lady did, for starters, and he was less concerned about playing in the water.

That didn’t mean he didn’t stand there and let it rinse him clean, the warmth suffusing into his bones, lulling him down into a warm embrace. It felt good. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d gotten these last few weeks, sleeping in the dirt as he picked his way across the Commonwealth to complete jobs here and there, polish off his training. Lady would be a year old in a couple of months, and that threshold would mark him out of grunt stage.

It wouldn’t be enough to get him into a room of his own, but at least it’d get him off the dirty mattresses outside.

He tipped his head back with a sigh, eyes closed. He could sleep right here…

That wasn’t the water. Water didn’t carass his scars softly, didn’t follow along the line of ribs he’d broken as a child, feeling along the knotted bone. It didn’t run down his abs and follow the trail of short-hairs down in an unbroken, determined stroke, or pet the angle of his hips that didn’t align _quite right_ from the same rockfall. It didn’t slip further down, pace it’s way over the top of his thigh and back up again, to _there--_

He stiffened against the wall, head lifting, eyes snapping open. Except it couldn’t be the wall, because he was _looking at it--_

Lips slanted over his own-- _someone’s lips_ , fuck fuckfuck-- and then someone’s tongue swept into the gap to plunder his breath away like a thief. A low roar of panic turned on the back of his head, because he couldn’t _breathe_ \-- and then he was too dizzy to think or stand, his fingers grappling at the arm around his chest for-- support or-- or _something_ , while a broad hand curled _around him_ and his knees tried to give way.

The kiss broke-- leaving him tasting grapes on his tongue, MacCready had never even _had_ grapes before-- and the mouth, the _tongue_ , lapped its way back across his cheek to his ear. “I see my little Sniper is hardly so _little_ where it counts..” He knew that voice; he _did_ , and goosebumps crawled over his skin as the man ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, _humming_.

“ _Jack_ \--”

“You remembered my name. _Good_ . That needs to be rewarded, I think. Don’t you agree?” The hand around _him_ sped up, his cock trapped in a tunnel of warmth and wet friction. He dug blunted nails into Jack’s arm, his head lolling backwards against his chest. It felt good-- _great_ , even, fuck, but it was _Jack_ \--

“Jack, st--”

Jack tasted like grapes. It was a strange thought to have, but he did and MacCready was dizzy, it was hard to think--

He had to think. He had to _breathe_.

The plan did not survive contact with the enemy.

The shower walls were made of steel, and MacCready had never been quite so intimately acquainted with them before. His elbow was held tight in Jack’s grip, twisted behind his back and secured so that he couldn’t get it free, couldn’t get enough space for another swing. Jack’s breath was hot on the back of his neck as he spoke, the contrast so sharp between that and the cool metal against his skin that it was almost painful.

“Now, don’t be naughty, I _do_ want both of us to enjoy this.” Jack spoke honey-sweet, but even as he did, he tugged on his elbow, lancing pain up the limb. For a horrifying moment, MacCready thought he’d dislodge the joint from the socket; it was his strong arm, the one that held his rifle steady. But Jack seemed to know that, because the pressure eased away. “Don’t make me change my mind.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the base of his skull, and all MacCready’s nerves flared with warning signs.

“I--”

“I know,” Jack promised, brushing aside short blond locks. What-- _ohhh_ . His body shuddered a bit as Jack’s tongue ran against the shell of his ear again, and those signs blurred a bit. Or maybe that was MacCready’s vision becoming unfocused. “Now be a good kitten and _purr_ for Jack. I know you can.”

He felt Jack’s hand move forward, once settled on his hip, thumb rubbing over one of his scars. Now it moved forward, parting him from the wall, Jack’s broad palm slowing to rest secure and possessive over his belly. Something in his gut twisted uncomfortably with the motion, but Jack was tilting his head to rest it on his shoulder and press kisses to the hollow of his throat and down, back over his neck, so he didn’t get to think on that too long.

He missed the moment when Jack let go of his arm, confidant there’d be no more retaliation. But he didn’t miss the quiet whine that echoed through the shower-house, or the moan that followed it when Jack pulled him from the wall, his other hand dropping down to resume the menstrations of his body. He didn’t recognize the voice. He didn’t know who it belonged to. But they got more and more frequent, until that was all he could hear, and he didn’t have enough breath to tell them to _stop_.

It _couldn’t_ have been... _him_?

 _No_.

One hand scrambled to find purchase on the wall, his knees trying their damndest to give way. Only Jack’s hand kept him upright, kept him pinned against him and the solid proof of desire against his backside, kept him immobile, only _Jack’s_ \--

"Jack--” Jack didn’t stop at the sound of his name. Of course he wouldn’t. But MacCready was going to _explode_ . “Jack-- _fuck--_ ”

“That’s _right_ , kitten..” Jack shifted his hips, the head of his dick pressing against the line of his ass, and MacCready’s brain _seized_ . He gripped at the man’s wrist, his eyes wide and mouth open in a silent gasp, and then he did it again and _again_ , driving the head deeper between his cheeks with each short thrust. His hand didn’t stop, but no, instead of being entirely immobile, every upward stroke was accompanied by a movement from Jack, and he was sandwiched and going to--

Jack pulled away, leaving him cold on both fronts, but his words still sounded warm and MacCready couldn’t _think_ . “Oh, not yet. Not even close, my little Sniper. I've waited too long for this for you to be finished so _soon_."

“ _Jack_ \--”

Jack turned him around and for a moment MacCready got to look at him, and then he got to look at the floor as a wash of vertigo took him, Jack’s shoulder digging into his stomach. He felt calloused fingers rub at the backs of his thigh, but it was a brief thing, there and gone. The water turned off, lack of continuous warmth thrusting him into immediate chill despite the temperature.

Then Jack’s hand came back in a stinging rap against his asscheek and he jumped, more surprised than truly pained. Maybe it’s because he’s wound up so tight, right on the verge of-- of-- and any stimulation as a result makes his dick jump like a good little soldier, but a humiliating heat stained his cheeks anyway. _Fucking hell_.

“Alright. Let’s get going; I have a _special_ treat set up just for you.”

It took far too long for MacCready to register that they were _leaving_ the shower, his ass bared for all the world to see. There were people he damned sure didn’t want to _ever_ see him naked. He could hear them, talking and laughing over the sound of the fire, probably eating their gruel or chasing it with drink. He couldn’t see them, but that didn’t mean _anything_ , up here. He twisted on Jack’s shoulder, squirming to try and shove himself off, get back on his own two feet; grab his clothes, retreat to the safety of the sniper’s loft down at the end of the road. Jack bounced him on his shoulder, the return impact chasing all the air from his lungs in a rush.

If he said anything in rebuke, MacCready missed it in favor of remembering how to breathe.

He was still trying to breathe moments-- hours?-- later when he heard door hinges groan, and then what precious little breathe he had fled him again as Jack tossed him down on a scarlet mattress without a drop of ceremony. He had a moment to cast a look around the room, hunting for his sister; the lights were low but there she was, in the pack-sense and his vision, shadowed form being urged into the room by Adonis’ larger frame.

She didn’t look like she understood what was going on, and he couldn’t blame her. _He_ didn’t understand what was going on.

But then he lost sight of her, Jack crawling onto the bed with him, covering his body with his own much larger one. He caught MacCready’s mouth before he could protest, before he could say _no_ , and the taste of grapes left him light headed, Jack’s tongue warring with his own for exploratory rights. Then he pulled away, sitting upright, and panting and breathless, he tried to follow, _needing_.

His arms pulled him to a stop. He looked up at his wrists in surprise, and silver shined back at him from the bedposts. Panic flooded his system at once and he jerked on them, looking down at where Jack sat. Jack rested at the foot of the bed, bright blue eyes focused on him as he enclosed his other ankle, the last free limb he’d had--

The smug, infuriating bastard _smiled at him_ , lips twisting into a wicked smirk as he leaned forward over him, his breath scorching hot against his dick. MacCready had to crane his neck to watch, partly in hope, partly in trepidation, every inch of him anxious as all fucking hell.

Then he pressed just the tip of his tongue against the slitted head, brushing away the beads of liquid and leaving his flesh on fire. His hips jerked upwards, looking for friction, but Jack had already pulled away, chuckling at him. “So eager… that’s good, _so_ good. I’ve got so many things to show you, kitten. So many things that I’m _dying_ for you to learn.”

He moved away entirely, sliding off the bed and getting to his feet. He _paraded_ himself as he moved, and MacCready watched him until he vanished beyond his line of sight, right near where Adonis lay. It took a second to process that the white was laying on Lady, his larger bulk and greater weight holding her against the floor in a way that let him hold onto her scruff, so she couldn’t turn her head around to bite him. And he could tell she wanted to, could feel the quiet outrage from her trying to hammer against the lust coursing through his body, but it was like listening through a shitty radio, all distant and scrambled.

This was wrong. All of it. Jack and Adonis and this _room_ , _all wrong_ , he didn’t _want this_ , he didn’t know why Jack was doing it, what the game was, if someone had pitched a bet with a shiny pile of caps.

Lady wasn’t the sort of wolf to growl, but he could feel her ire buzzing in the back of his mind, quiet and dimmed by a warm commanding presence that curled around their bond and made it hard to listen to, the way the medics quieted it whenever one of them got shot, so the pain wouldn’t completely overwhelm the other. He tested his cuffs, but they were secure and the bedposts were solid wood, and only a very small part of him wanted to get away, the small part of him that could _think_ , that held Lady’s anger close at hand and tried to get more space to think because of it.

He couldn’t smell anything but grapes and steel and the thick scent of arousal, strong enough he knew he had to get out but heady enough that he just fucking didn’t _want_ to, which was terrifying all on it’s own.

He heard Jack come back into the room on the other side of the bed and turned to look at him, mouth open to beg him to let him go-- and Robert Joseph MacCready _did not beg for anything_ \-- but Jack was turned away from him, pulling something from a container below the edge of the bed. A canister of something purple, scenting strongly of grapes even capped up like it was. He wondered what it was, what it was for. A ball bearing rattled inside as he shook it, making a round around the bed.

The door! He hadn’t even seen the door before Jack went to it, checking the latches, but now he could see it. If he could get himself free and get there…

Jack kept walking after a minute, stopping again to lean down, scratch Adonis behind his massive ears. His lips were moving, but MacCready couldn’t hear it for the sound of blood pounding in his ears, the furious hope that he could get an arm free and get loose before he turned to him proper. He didn’t; the cuffs were secured tight around him and the short length of chain between each piece ensured he had too much to get any good pry out of them, but not enough to yank them apart. When Jack stood and looked at him, his gaze raked like a brand across him, appraising him like a farmer at a brahmin market hunting for the the very best bull-calf.

Adonis’ low growl shuddered through his bones. Jack’s lips were pulled into a thoughtful line, but he felt him press a response back through the pack-sense, firm and solid in a way that made his dick twitch, the wilted half-mast traitor that it was.

 _Soon_.

 _Fuckyesplease_. He hadn’t meant to think, hadn’t meant to project. But Jack’s lips were curling into a devilish smirk that said he’d heard anyway. Fucking damn it.

“What’s the matter, kitten?” Jack crooned, stepping to the bed to climb up on it again-- on MacCready again. “Did I leave you waiting too long? I’m sorry… don’t you still want me?” He opened his mouth to say _no_ , _let me go_ , but it was the wrong move, because Jack caught him and his tongue dove in to plunder the depths, and only the sense of danger in the edge of his mind kept him from biting down. A satisfied rumble shook him, then the older man decided to stop fucking his mouth with his tongue. He moved to drop wet, open-mouthed kisses on his flesh instead, moving down his throat to the hard plains of muscles that made up his torso. He paid special mind to the healed knot of bones at his ribs, the small pocks where he’d let raiders get too close and take a shot.

Everywhere his mouth touched was left burning, sending heat through his whole form until he couldn’t think. Jack’s broad hands cradling his hips were the only thing that kept him still at all. Every once in a while he’d find a spot that sent a jolt of pleasure through him and he’d stop there, listening to him keen and try to thrash while he sucked on the patch, slowly working his way down all the while.

He talked a lot, but never with his voice.

_Do you like that, kitten? Here… or here? Yes, good, hold still for me-- oh, there we go, that’s it, say my name, kitten. Soon-- very soon._

And he did, he was, because if he said it enough, if he said it _right_ , maybe Jack would stop to listen to him, maybe he’d-- MacCready didn’t know if he wanted him to continue, but if he stopped he would _die_.

_That’s it, kitten, louder now, I know you can. Because you can’t live without good ol’ Jack, can you?_

“ _Jack…!!_ ” His voice was a strangled groan, foreign to his ears, but it was his, he knew it when he felt Jack’s mouth left from his abs, _attention_ focused on him.

He was blind with want and he hated it.

“Jack what?” A simple question. Easy. Weighted with the impression that he wouldn’t touch him with his tongue again unless he got an answer, which was fucking _bullshit_ , that’s what it was. His fingers shifted from his hips to slide backward, taking a full cheek in each palm and cupping them, squeezing, _massaging…_ and MacCready arched his back with a moan, half-desperate. “ _Tell me,_ kitten, tell Jack what you want him to do.”

“ _Jack_ \--” he felt one of those hands shift, strong fingers dipping into the crack, finding the ring of muscle and pressing against him in a promise-threat. He jerked against it against his own will and his body was flushed with want and shame and the order, _tell me_ \-- “ _Jack please, please--!_ ”

Tight wet warmth enveloped his cock in a rush that made him dizzy, Jack’s nose brushing into his coarse-hairs as he thrust up into him. There were wordless noises on his tongue, but it was Jack’s voice in his mind, _You taste so fucking good, kitten, yes, cry for me._

He lost himself in the silent praise that filled up his his head, crowding in through the pack-sense until it was all he could think, Jack’s mouth sheathing him completely and his thoughts wringing his name in a cascade. All he could feel was that and Jack’s fingers, the loss of them, and then all he could smell was the strong scent of hubflowers, of grapes as they came back, cold as a fucking snowbank but slicked and determined, one hand spreading his cheeks and the other finding that ring of muscle, a long thick finger forcing it’s way passed his defenses and inside him until he was fucking himself on it, perfect and wonderful, just enough pain to offset the pleasure when Jack added a second digit.

Where the fuck had this been all his life?

_So fucking tight and hot, kitten. Are you ready for me, yet?_

He might have said words. He probably didn’t say words. He might have thought words, or gave a strangled cry of Jack’s fucking _name_ when the unrepentant asshole scissored his fingers, stretching him, working in a third finger; he arched, needing, wanting something he couldn’t name, knowing, _knowing_ , that the asshole atop him had the answers he wanted.

Jack sat up, and left him in a rush of cold. He keened, and Jack _chuckled_ , crawling up his body to smother the sound, settling between his thighs like he belonged there.

The part of MacCready’s brain that was filled up with the pack-sense thought he _did_.

He tasted like grapes, like bitter things made sweet, and it was almost a sufficient distraction. He could feel him pull his fingers free, the tip of his dick pressing against the ring of muscles in threat, in promise; those slicked fingers spread out over his torso, pressing him firm against the bed when he tried to move closer.

Real words flooded his ears, Jack drawn away just far enough to speak words against his skin. “Do you want me, kitten?”

 _Pleaseplease_ . “ _Jack--_ ”

“Do you want me?”

The edge of threat increased fractionally. His head was filled with cotton that made it hard to focus on anything, but he could tell Jack wanted a real answer, something more than just his name, and MacCready grappled for real words to use. If he could move… but he couldn’t, Jack wouldn’t let him, and he was so close to kissing him again and he _wanted him to_ , he wanted him to put the fire out that was burning him from the inside-- “ _Please Jack_ ,” it was hard to put a breath between the words. “ _Yes_ please yes _yes!_ ”

Jack caught his lips to spill fire into his lungs, his hips rocking forward in a single short thrust; MacCready felt the head pass the ring of muscles and nearly wept, _yespleaseyes_ \-- but then he stopped, stilling atop him, and his broad palm on his belly kept him from rocking into him, drawing him in deeper. He needed him to fill him, he _needed_ him to, but he hadn’t, he _wouldn’t_. He moaned into his mouth and Jack broke the kiss to let it spill into the air.

“You’re going to have to beg harder than that, kitten. I can’t hear how much you want me.”

The _bastard_ wanted him to beg _more_ \-- but he wanted him to fill him up, to make him _full_ , so he did. He squirmed beneath the securing hand, trying to find purchase, trying to make it so, while a litany of _yes please I want you I_ want _you_ spilled off his tongue in a song he didn’t know _._

“ _Ask me to fuck you,_ ” Jack purred.

MacCready dropped his head back and wanted to cry in agony. “ _Please_ Jack-- I _want_ \--” Words, there had to be words, Jack wouldn’t give him anything without words. “Fuck me _please_.”

Jack thrust forward, a little harder, a little deeper; he yelped, surprised and a little pained but greedy, hopeful-- and then he _stopped again_ . He could feel his cock weeping, dripping against his skin, and he pulled on the chains in protest. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he could barely _breathe_.

“Who do you _belong_ to, kitten?”

“You _you_ Jack _**please**. _ ”

Satisfaction rolled off Jack in waves. “And you’re always going to,” he told him, a promise and a threat MacCready couldn’t hear, couldn’t register. Then he snapped his hips forward in a harsh thrust that buried him firm and deep in his body, all the way to his hilt, and MacCready _screamed._

He lost himself somewhere, his mind tangled up with the _want_ and _satisfaction_ cloying through his body and mind like tar, smothering the scarlet ember that wanted to burn it all away. Jack moved against him, every outward stroke slow until he was nearly free, raking the coals in the flame, and every thrust sharp and heavy and timed _just perfect_ to make him shout every little breath out back out. His chains had precious little give, he couldn’t rock back to meet him, could only hang there as Jack shoved him further into madness, _yes_ , _finally._

The ride lasted forever, Jack keeping him _right on edge_ , until at long last MacCready felt himself erupt, hot thick ropes of essence spilling onto his belly, his chest, leaving him floating in glorious satisfaction. Jack kept moving, not yet finished with him, and MacCready could feel him still filling his body hard and fast, raking over over-sensitized walls for several long, glorious heartbeats more before he finally came, curling over his body to lay his mouth over the sniper’s own in a searing, branding kiss as he poured sweet, hot nectar right into his guts.

Oblivion lay beyond the satisfaction, but the satisfaction was so perfect and all encompassing that he couldn’t even pay attention to the bold anger in the bond, and he could still feel Jack’s cock inside of him, wilting but _there_ in a way that soothed fears he didn’t know he had. “....Jack?”

“You _belong_ to me now, kitten,” he heard back, and then he took that sense of belonging down to sleep with him.

He woke up with sore muscles he didn’t even know he _had_. But he woke up warm and snuggled down into a comfortable mattress, the pack-bond quiet and still in the early morning and only Lady in his head. She licked at his face, and he pushed her away sleepily so he could crawl off his mat.

The fall to the floor woke him up in a rush of pain. Lady nudged his shoulder in apology, and he let warmth and affection flood their connection to show all was forgiven, reaching up to scratch at her jaw for a few moments.

There were no threats in the room, or Lady would have pressed their locations to him already. They were alone, and it took Lady pressing the scent of _grape mentats and steel_ to him through their connection for him to register the room he was looking at, now that his head was finally clear of outside influence. To remember what had happened the-- night?-- before.

Had it been the night before? How much time had passed? He felt disturbingly well-rested, if bruised, sore and over-worked. _Bred_ , Lady supplied unhelpfully, and the implications curled hot shame into his gut.

Bred. Like the dogs back in Lamplight, and the result was _always_ a litter of puppies. He remembered when Princess had gotten pregnant, and the way her belly had swelled with George before he was born. He’d been in the clinic when Lucy had told her why her stomach was growing that way, citing Red’s claim that it meant she was going to have a baby. He’d been there, confused and bewildered but the only person besides Lucy-- Lucy, who had delivered some sort of bad news, because weren’t babies a good thing? More kids in Little Lamplight was _always_ a good thing, wasn’t it?-- so he’d been the person Princess had clung to and cried on instead.

He pressed a hand against his stomach and frowned down at it, trying to imagine his stomach growing like Princess’ had. Princess had been happy, despite all her bad days and sleepless nights and list of increasingly dubious food choices.

But Princess having George hadn’t been like any of the dogs having puppies. She had screamed for hours, and nobody had gotten any sleep with it echoing in the caves. The younger kids had all been in tears, and the older kids had been watching Murder Pass except the couple he’d had posted on the Gate. He’d not been slotted for guard duty that night, but with one of their best gunners in the clinic _having a baby_ had made it necessary for MacCready to be up.

The noise had attracted a fucking ton of super mutants at Murder Pass.

There wasn’t a Murder Pass here to keep people busy at, and neither was there a clinic nor a Lucy. His best shot was one of the Gunner medics and a wolf-den, or a settlement with a real _doctor_.

Could it happen after just once? Was there a little George in his belly even now?

Fucking hell, what was he going to do if there was? A Gunner camp was no place to raise a child, and he couldn’t take a kid into some of the jobs he ran, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if they got hurt. And he couldn’t let anyone _else_ take care of them. Some of these fucking mungos would drop them off the bypass just to watch him weep.

He hoped fervently that once wasn’t enough, ignoring the confusion that seeped from his sister. If he was going to have a baby, _shouldn’t_ he have the baby? Shouldn’t it be a good thing?

And she wasn’t wrong, that was the thing. But he couldn’t; not here, not now. He had to find a better place for it, a safer place that was secret and more secure than an overpass in the middle of the Commonwealth. And to do that he had to get out of this room.

He climbed to his feet carefully and made his way to the door, grabbing hold of the handle… and kicking the door in annoyance, when it didn’t open for him. It barely even rattled. There was no good seam to get his fingers into, and the hinges were safely hidden behind a metal plate, only accessible when the door was open. His only exploit was the lock.

Somehow, he didn’t think he’d find a bobby pin and screwdriver in this room, but he still caught himself turning to look.

The bed was nice, the headboard shoved up against a center wall with plenty of room to walk on either side, where he could remember Jack vanishing before. They were red, the same as the bedding, and he had been covered by those scarlet sheets.

A part of him, a very small, traitorous fucking part, wanted to crawl back under them and go back to sleep, hope the nightmare was over when he woke up again. But they smelled like grapes and fucking and sweat to Lady, which meant they were used and filthy and he would really rather not, if he had a choice.

He forced himself to drop his hands back to his sides when he realized he was splaying one over his belly, turning his attention to the scarlet cloth hanging down from the ceiling. Maybe there was another exit? There had to be a _room_. It was worth a look, at least.

He padded barefoot across the floor and moved the curtain with the tips of his fingers, peeking inside. Nothing shot at him, jumped out at him, or otherwise made a move to cause bodily harm. Lady gave him the sense that she had already been in here, that there was nothing new to see, but she seemed resigned to the fact that he was going to explore it anyway.

Another door led to a small bathroom; toilet, sink, a nice shower set. No windows, which brought the number of potential portals to climb through to a depressingly small _zero_. His skin itched with the urge to climb under the shower head, wash off as much of Jack as he could, as if he could somehow get rid of the night before. He swallowed hard and turned away from it, poking around the rest of the small back room.

A small refrigerator, plugged into the wall on a small table. It was partnered with a yellow chem cooler, and he flipped open the latch to poke through it. It was filled to the brim with pop-tab sheets, all of them full of little, round, purple pills that had the locker smelling like hubflowers. The scent was thick enough that it made his stomach twist in threat, and he snapped the lid down again, stepping away. The fridge only had cool, clean water in it, and literally nothing else.

He took one, more thirsty than he’d like to admit, and sipped on it as he continued his survey.

There was a mirror, miraculously uncracked, hung on one of the walls. The circles under his eyes had faded from the last time he’d seen himself in cracked glass, and he wondered how many hours of real rest had helped that. Too many; he was supposed to head out at sunrise to relieve another sniper out at the Nest. He hadn’t missed an assignment off the duty roster in… ever. He didn’t know what time it was. He and Lady both had apparently slept like rocks, and there were no seams or gaps in the structure at all to hint at where the sun might be. But he could guess it was likely to be well after dawn, and it was a blot on his record, a ruined perfectly good streak.

It was Jack’s fault.

His skin was also peppered in bruises, and _those_ were also Jack’s fault. They looked so damned bad in the mirror, too, like someone had caught him with a scattergun a few times. There were fainter ones along the scarring, and he ran his fingers around the jagged seam of an old slaver’s knife. He closed his eyes and shivered, remembering the attention the asshole had paid to every flaw.

It’d been… nice. Weird, but nice. Not that it mattered, since it looked like he wasn’t going to go shirtless for a while.

He shook his head and moved back into the main room. There was an elevated chest of drawers, and he poked his way through them one at a time. They were full of things he didn’t recognize and also couldn’t use to pick the lock, so he put them back in their drawers and moved on.

His toes bumped something cool and metal, and he knelt down to investigate it. Lady slipped over to stand next to him, ears pricked forward in curiosity, and he spared a hand to scratch her reassuringly.

Sliding the lid of the cooler back revealed palm-sized cylinders, smooth metal and glass, something hospital grade maybe? The liquid inside was a vibrant purple and he remembered, suddenly, seeing one of these in Jack’s hand. This had been something from last night. It couldn’t be some sort of chem, though, it wasn’t an injector…

The door opened and he jolted, nearly dropping it on the floor. He haphazardly tucked it back into the cooler, shifting blue eyes to look at the door himself. The light was poor and the angle was shit; he couldn’t tell what time of day it was, not from here. Maybe not even from the door. It looked like it was facing one of the walls.

Lady had turned around to face the door too, her tail tucked tight between her legs and her body nearly flat on the ground next to him. Inside the entrance was Jack, one arm holding the door and the other holding a dinner tray. Adonis slipped into the space beneath his arm, a hunk of bloodied meat in his jaws.

“We brought you dinner, kitten,” Jack smiled, the _bastard_ , and then he pulled the door closed in a chink of metal that set his teeth on edge. He made his way to the bed between them, bright-eyed and fully dressed and _watching_ him. “Don’t you want to come eat with me? Aren’t you hungry?”

For several moments, MacCready could do nothing but stare up at him, palm pressed to his abdomen where it had fallen to rest. With Jack laden with a plate, he could probably make it to the door…

Then his stomach rumbled in tandem with Lady’s own, his traitorous addiction to having real food once a day reminding him that he’d skipped out on dinner last night to have a go at the showers. He was regretting that choice now, but he could smell a radstag steak still hot from the grill-fire and it made his mouth water. He bit his lower lip and weighed his options.

Lady, on her belly, inched closer to the hubcap that apparently constituted a food bowl. She was hungrier than he was, and he could feel it through their connection.

But the door…

He ducked his head and made his way back to the bed. It might be a while before he got food again. But he could always make his escape later on, tomorrow at the latest.

That plan didn’t survive either.

\--

In fact, none of his plans survived.

Every time he thought he had a shot, every chance he thought he had, Jack found some way to shred every one of them. The door was always locked, and there were no loose sheets in the walls that he could force to give way. There were no tools in the shed to help him. No one came to investigate the noise he made.

He lost track of time. He lost time. He lost a _lot_ of time, drowning in the sensation of _satisfaction_ and _belonging_. Some of it was even his. Most of it wasn’t.

Jack brought him food and Adonis brought Lady food. Sometimes they left again. Sometimes they didn’t. When they didn’t, he slept, after. When they did, he paced, anxious and antsy. He checked the door often. Eventually his time devolved into keeping fit, and he exercised a lot. His cage smelled of sex and sweat, but it was big enough for exercise.

Sometimes he woke to find Lady gone, the bond between them stretched wide, the exhilaration of running flowing through the link like it was in his own veins. She always came back with Adonis, and Jack. Most of the times he woke up with her curled next to him, his face buried in her ruff. Sometimes he woke with black on one side, and thick dual-toned pelt on the other. Often he woke up with Jack above him, the scent of desire and hubflowers thick and his skilled fingers where they _didn’t_ \-- where they _did_ need to be _, yes kitten_.

Sometimes he woke curled up with Jack, snug against his chest like he belonged there, and it happened often enough that a very small part of him eventually wondered if he _did_.

His belly stayed mercifully flat.

He didn’t know how long it had been though. He had no idea, no way of knowing, how many deployments he had missed. He didn’t dare ask Jack. Lady didn’t know. Time didn’t mean anything to her.

His hair had grown long enough to begin curling at the ends, brushing at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t find a knife to cut it, even though he had been searching for it since he had woken up a few hours ago. It was irritating, causing his hair to stand on end every time he turned his head, and he had already discarded his scarf for the same reason.

It was the same reason that he wasn’t on the bed, trying to go back to sleep. The sheets were too coarse against his skin, which was fucking ridiculous, and the bed itself was uncomfortable in general, either too hard or too soft, it didn’t matter, he couldn’t find a position to _rest_ in. Lady seemed to be having the same miserable luck, pacing around the front room of the shack, trying to walk off her own anxiety with just as much success as he was having.

There had to be a pair of scissors in here _somewhere_ . Jack had had a _razor_ , once.

He looked until the room got too hot to continue searching and he _had_ to stop. It must have been sweltering outside; it had never been this warm in here, but the steel construction must have drawn heat and compounded it.

He only knew one way to cool off, but it was no hardship to turn the cool water of Jack’s shower on and duck under the spray, even though it felt like ice biting across his flesh. He braced himself against the wall with both hands, feet set apart for support, and bowed his head low so it pounded across the back of his neck and shoulders, tracing down his muscles in lines of sweet, sharp harmony. The difference in the temperature made his body tremble and he had to close his eyes to focus on breathing. It wrapped him up in a cool embrace, encircling his limbs, trailing over his hips, caressing his cock and making him _ache_ so bad he _hurt_.

But it cooled him off. Or, at least it did for a little while. Nothing he did managed to bring himself any sort of satisfaction, and the water only managed to make it worse instead of getting rid of the desire. He was forced to turn the water off before he ran the store dry.

The drying towels felt like sandpaper in his hands and he resigned to let himself drip dry instead. In the other room, Lady let out a low, throaty whine that sent a spike of _want_ through him, and it was answered from beyond the steel door by a dozen separate scents, all buffeting him through the pack-sense.

He hadn’t felt the pack-sense in ages; Jack had erected a literal and proverbial steel wall between him and the rest of the Gunners, and the sudden _awareness_ of them sent him staggering weak-kneed back into the main room.

The scents turned to noise. Desire and satisfaction settled in Lady’s chest in a way Mac had never felt before, spilling into his own body strong enough to make him stumble. He caught himself on the bedpost, sinking down to his knees and bowing his head, trying to understand what was going on. Behind him he could hear wolves scratching at the door, men testing the handle, pawing at the seams.

 _Want-- want-- need-- let me-- key-- key?-- have to--_ **_break_ ** _it--_

Lady was awash with it, alive with the knowledge that they were going to _break in to them_ , and it wracked through him strong enough to leave him breathless and so, so desperate.

He curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against the floor where the air was thicker, cooler. _Lady_ , he tried, trying to reach out to her through the overpowering sensations. The floor was cool against too-hot skin, and he let go of the bedpost to lay his palms on it, trying to soak up the relief. It scratched, but he was comfortable and he didn’t want to move. _Lady_.

 _Yesnow_ , Lady nosed at the door, and a fresh wave of _urgency_ washed through the pack-sense. MacCready shivered against it, closing his eyes briefly to ride it out. _Yesyesnowcome_ **_yes_ ** . Then, she seemed to figure out he was trying to get her attention and turned away from the door, moving over to press a cold nose against his ribs. He jerked a bit, sucking in air and stretching out, and she danced out of his reaching grasp to move away, settling somewhere off to the side of the open floor, her words a litany of _want now_ and _satisfaction_.

Something settled inside his head, locking into place like two pieces of a rifle sealed together, and he pushed himself up off the floor to look at her. She wasn’t looking back at him; her face was turned to watch the door, waiting, expectant--

 _Stay_.

The order cracked through the pandemonium in his head and he froze there, propped up on his hands and knees.

Outside, the world went quiet. The chuffing at the door ceased, the pawing, the words that weren't; everything had stopped, and somehow that anchored the anticipation in his gut, the anxiety making him tremble in _want_. But something was happening. Someone was coming. He could feel it through the pack-sense, the way it pressed the order through everything, shoving it so far into MacCready's head that he could barely breath.

_Stay._

The presence was huge. It enveloped his whole self in the network, demanding _obedience_ , and his muscles spasmed, his body _needing_ . They knew which one they wanted. That one. The one that cowed everything, _the leader of the pack_.

 _Fuck_ , but he wanted him. _That one_ , right there, bright and powerful in his awareness. If they had a _choice at all_ . They could feel the strength of offspring not yet conceived, the raw power of them, and the certainty of Lady choice echoed through him until he was nothing but _sure_ right along with her. _No other would do_.

The order threatened through the pack-sense once more, though he could feel the rest of the world trying to close in around it, choke it off. Something scraped against the outside of the door and he trembled, but he couldn't look, _stay_ thrumming through his very bones. It opened, washing in cold air and scents of desire, dozens of wolves and people--

It closed, and the sound of the lock falling into place was as loud as a hammer on a firing pin, jolting through his body with so much heat he could feel his obedience waver--

Lady bowed her body, turning her head away from the door. A huge wolf with a muddied pelt climbed over her, teeth catching her scruff in powerful jaws-- the skin on the back of MacCready's neck prickled, missing the matching hold-- and then the male settled himself into place and thrust forward--

His muscles clenched down on nothing as he watched them, unable to look away, the pain of being full and simultaneously empty wringing a desperate whine from his throat as the stud shoved into Lady, again and again in a pace that his body desperately wanted to match, their pleasure backed by the outrage and need from the rest of the pack, locked out.

Then _finally_ he felt someone's strong hand on the back of his neck, shoving him down until his cheek lay against the carpet, slick fingers pressing against his entrance-- he thrust himself back onto them, unable to _stay_ any longer, desperate to be filled, and his partner _growled_ , the sound tearing through his fragile senses, _yes please finally_.

 _Wait._ The order was accompanied by a brief tightening of that palm against the back of his neck, too firm and too sharp to be disobeyed, and he whimpered into the carpet, green eyes fixed on the two that _weren't_ , and he could feel the missing weight like a ghost over his back. Those fingers worked him slow and careful, the hand holding him refusing to let him move, to help.

Staying still, _waiting,_ was torture. His legs trembled from trying to hold still, muscles screaming in protest of it, and his partner curled his fingers in his core, teasing, _testing_ his obedience, and he dug his fingers and toes into the carpet beneath him. He could only whine and whimper at every sensation, the overbearing press against his mind insistent in its instruction. He had to wait-- he _had to_ , and he would, even if it shattered him, even if Lady _didn’t_ \--

The fingers left him and he was empty again, utterly befret, and he made a frustrated, broken sound of need that apparently did something, meant something to the other, because something _else_ settled against him, finally, _finally_ , even if the swollen head pushed forward to fill him at an _agonizingly_ slow pace. He struggled to move and meet him, but the hand on the back of his neck didn’t dare, and the pack-sense was sharp and flinted and dangerous, _wait. Stay_.

He trembled. He _couldn’t_ wait, not anymore, he had to, he was _so close_ , almost, almost... _Please_.

He didn’t. The hips pressed forward at the same slow pace they had been, moving precious little at a time, and he clenched to try to encourage him, to pull him in, because he needed, _wanted_ \-- his partner growled at him, low and harsh, and he felt part of himself come undone with it. The dissonance between him and Lady was so keen he couldn’t stand it, and he could feel his body weeping with _want_.

Lady, who was so full, her mate thrusting inside her again and again as they worked together to find the end, his body a heavy weight over her own, holding her down, holding her steady, his teeth set just _so--_

He panted from exertion as his own partner settled all the way inside him, finally, right where he _belonged,_ and it was perfect, the way he could feel the length of him buried all the way inside, the echo from the pack-sense that was the _other_ buried inside of _him_ , the clenching tightness that he could feel, the awareness that it was his own body making it so. It made his toes curl in pleasure. _Please_ , he whined, begging, _pleaseplease_ **_please_ **.

Something fragile _snapped_ and that authority pounded through the pack-sense loud enough to quiet everything for a few heartbeats, savage and all consuming.

It arched through him, scorching him, burying itself in every fiber of his being. Possession, ownership--

And with it he was moving, pulling back, thrusting in, and it wasn’t slow, no easy thing, it was hard and fast and everything he needed, rocking into him like lightning strikes and he moved with it, with him. The pace was wrong, the thrusts ill timed; his partner moved out of him as Lady’s filled her, but the hand on his neck didn’t leave him, it _needed_ to be there, and the other settled firm on his hip and held him tight enough to bruise.

Over it, under it, lacing through his veins like whiskey was that one word, a solid physical weight in his body.

 **_Mine_ ** **.**

\--

He woke exhausted, snuggled down in a warm, encompassing darkness and _satisfied_ , his body aching in all the best ways. He could still feel the powerful hand against his neck, the memory of teeth set just so, and it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. Not yet. He ducked closer to the body of warmth in front of him, shoulders twinging, hips protesting the shift in position.

He could remember-- pieces, of what had happened. Mostly the sense of being filled, time and again, the burn of the carpet against his skin, _need_ pouring through every piece of him and his other half burning with the desire to _breed_ him, the way he’d wanted and needed to be, the way his brother had been breeding Lady across from them. He could still feel his seed buried deep inside his body, filling him to the brim, and a stray, sleepy thought wondered if his belly would swell now, if there would be a little one for him the way Lady was sure, was certain, there would be little ones for her.

Maybe… Maybe if he was careful…

The arms that encircled him pulled him closer, and he rested his nose in the hollow of a warm collar, breathing the scent of steel and grape mentats deep into his lungs. He knew that smell. He knew the warm body before his, the arms that hooked around him. But the legs tangled with his own were a comfort, the way he weighted him down in the pack-sense was a relief, and Lady was so saited that even she, in all her infinite wisdom, only radiated that things were right in the world.

“...Jack?”

Something made him tip his head back; some instinct, some fae urge, but when he did there was the taste of grapes on his lips, his tongue, long and soft enough that he thought he was dreaming, strange enough that he knew he must be. He relaxed into it, not up for anything more than the softest of dreams, knowing he wasn’t up to trying to ply for dominance.

He called Jack’s name again, softer, over the pack-sense where just the four of them were wrapped up. The kiss petered out, unbroken, though his lips remained against his skin.

“M’here.”

Tension unknotted somewhere he hadn’t been aware it existed, spreading relief through his bones. Jack after all.

He left himself sink into the feeling of _safe_ and _belong_ , the sense of _pack_ and the great wealth of _mine_ that hadn’t left him, security the knowledge that it was Jack who would enforce it.

Sleep pulled at him then, and he went with it. For now, he could bask in this. Tomorrow he would get up and handle any horribleness the world wanted to throw at him.

\--

“You’re one lucky bitch, MacCready.”

The voice cut through the still air like a knife, settling against his spine, and MacCready swallowed reflexively at the implied threat in the tone. He knew the voice, though he hadn’t heard it quite so bitter before. He twisted to peer over his shoulder up at her, aware of the fact that being stretched out on his belly left his back and neck exposed, left him in danger. People usually left him alone when he was watching through his scope, aware that his attention was elsewhere.

It used to be that turning his back to people was a statement, a point of _you’re not worth the time_. Now, since Lady’s heat, there was an overt sense of expectancy in the pack-sense that made him downright uncomfortable, and people behind him, over him, only served to make it worse. He had found himself bristling at the team leaders more and more often, and walking in the back of formation was the only way to set him at ease.

He wasn’t at ease now. Private Casey stood behind him, her hands planted at her sides, hips cocked in a way that made her uniform shirt pull taut over her chest and abdomen. The fire barrel next to her through her shape into sharp relief, and he felt his heart constrict with a now-familiar want.

His own belly was still flat and firm, but Casey’s was swelling a bit, the way Princess’ had in the earliest days. Fuck. Why _Casey_?

“I’m usually pretty lucky,” he agreed, forcibly resisting the urge to roll over to face her properly. He couldn’t stand exposing his belly either, never had been able to. It was one thing to do face her when he was fully armed, but right now all he had was his rifle and that wasn’t exactly the best at short-range. If he had to, he couldn’t even defend himself right now; Casey was a _Gunner_ , and swelling with a little one besides.

He _didn’t_ kill kids.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Casey bristled. “What right do you have to be so damned chipper?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” MacCready blinked at her, confusion bubbling in his chest. He could feel her anger buffeting him in waves, but the reason behind it was lost in it all. He hadn’t done anything recently; no more than he had to, at least. He had never been particularly social; too many mungos, too few people to trust.

He’d lost more than a month cooped up in Jack’s shack, and though he knew that, nobody would tell him _how long_ . The loss of time was disorienting, and the officers seemed to be under the impression that it was better off he didn’t know how much time had actually gone by. But being locked away had damaged his fragile place in the teams. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t actively worked with Casey since they got their wolves; it didn’t matter that he didn’t _like_ her. It wasn’t _just Casey_.

“You fucking _would_ , that’s the fucking _problem_. Do you think you’re so much better than the rest of us?”

“Look, Case, I’m not fucking telepathic, you’re going to have to be more specific here. What the fuck did I do?”

If he’d been meaning to get her to calm down, the opposite effect was true. Casey stamped her foot and stepped closer, _looming_ over him in a way that raised his hackles. He twisted on his side, back pressed against the barricade, and felt Lady’s attention rivet to him from the other side of camp. She’d been off being social with the cook, not really trying for a meal but certainly unwilling to complain if he passed her some of the cubes originally meant for the stew.

It was safe enough for her. But now she was pressing through the distance to find out if _he_ was safe, and he… wasn’t sure…

“You had a fucking _solo with Smiling Jack_ ,” Casey hissed, her expression twisting into something MacCready recognized as _hate_ . “He pulled you before _anybody_ else got a taste of your ass, you _asshole_.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t like he had _wanted_ that, for Jack to accost him in the shower, cuffed down to a bed and run roughshod. He hadn’t wanted to be locked up, away from his job and the fucking _sunshine_ , for fuck knew how long. He hadn’t wanted to be so quiet in the pack-sense that he’d managed to forget it was _there_ , that there were people outside the shack who could hear him and wouldn’t _help him_ , to feel that sense of abandonment and the weighted knowledge that _nobody_ was going to come _after him_.

He hadn’t wanted it, this thing everybody was talking about, _grinning_ at him, open-mouthed and all teeth. He hadn’t wanted to be a notch on Jack’s belt, just another person he’d taken and bred, left mewling and screaming his name, so full of need and the drive for satisfaction that he couldn’t think straight enough to ask him to _stop_ , only _please more_.

Casey’s shoulders quivered with rage, hand twisting into her shirt so that it accented her swollen belly. Fuck, but he _wanted_ that.

“When Krestle went into heat, I got fucked by _every dick_ on the _base_.”

 _What_.

The words didn’t make sense. He knew what they meant; he had picked up more vocabulary in his year with the Gunners than he had ever strictly wanted to know. The language was pretty damned colorful, and with plenty of vulgarities besides, so most people didn’t notice when he skipped over a word that seemed to be common here.

And yet, he knew what she was saying. He knew what she _meant_.

His mind flashed back to Lady’s own heat, the sensation of being full and satisfied, the wealth of desire to be bred, over and over again until it took, until he was _sure_ his belly was so full of seed there _would_ be babies… Fuck, _please_..

“What are you talking about? That’s not how it--”

“That’s _exactly_ how it _fucking works_ . You’re the only bitch that’s _ever_ gotten a solo, you know that, and you’re not even _grateful_ for it, are you?”

He swallowed hard, drawing his legs up underneath him. Casey blocked him from any retreat back into the base, and she looked ready to throw him off the highway. He could feel Lady making her way to him, anxious and distressed and _angry_ that someone would threaten him, all ready to bite at the attacker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on post, Private?”

MacCready stiffened at the voice. He saw Casey do the same, surprise dancing across her features, but she turned around to look, and he lifted his gaze… further up. Fucking hell but Jack was tall.

And _angry_. He wanted to find a rock to hide behind, avoid the fury as much as humanly possible; his tone nearly matched Casey’s, with an undercurrent of something else he couldn’t figure, something roiling in their bond just beyond his perception. What mattered was his upset chased it’s way up his spine in a way that set his teeth on edge, and even when Jack’s expression softened, it still felt dangerous, his smile lethal all in it’s own way.

He stepped into Casey’s personal space, leaning down to whisper into her ear, and MacCready’s gut twisted in apprehension. More than one person had said, since his stint in Jack’s shack, they had warned him, told him not to get attached, that Jack had his toys and let them go when he was done playing with them, that he was not the first and was unlikely to be the last...

He hadn’t believed them. Jack had been a constant presence since he had come to Gunners, always in the background. He’d never paid attention before, of course, but MacCready was pretty sure he’d never seen Jack.. close.. to anybody. Seeing him with Casey now though, the way her shoulders shifted, the way her mood perked up immediately--

He believed it, and wished he didn’t.

Jack rocked back and considered Casey, and he found it hard to keep watching. “I.. I understand, sir.” Casey’s voice shook a bit. “I.. thank you, sir.”

The purr of Jack’s anger kept his attention, demanded his attention, but when he leaned in to whisper to her again--

He swallowed and dropped his gaze, unwilling to injure his own sense of pride by watching it. Jack’s anger couldn’t _make him_ watch him with another person-- hurt stung at him, making him feel even smaller, and he ducked his head in hope he could avoid any _more_ . If he made himself submissive enough, apologetic enough, _maybe he’d forgive him_ …

He heard Casey shuffle away and waited for Jack to do the same, but he didn’t. Jack moved closer instead, and his gut tightened in apprehension--

Then Jack rested a strong hand on the back of his neck, gripping him lightly, and MacCready relaxed beneath the touch, going boneless, turning with the grip, shifting to rest half on his side, nearly on his back. He stared up at him, his heart sinking. Jack’s expression was.. hard, anger dominant amongst the swirl in those bright eyes, and he wanted to melt through the old roadway to escape.

Jack’s hand stayed on the back of his neck though, and he wanted to go nowhere as long as it remained.

The pressure increased slightly and he moved with it, pushing himself up on his elbow and then his palm until he lingered just beneath him, a mere breath of space between them. He swallowed hard, scenting grapes, _want_ and _hope_ breeding low and quiet in his chest. Jack hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t yet done anything-- but he’d sent Casey away and stayed here, with him, and whatever MacCready had done to warrant his anger, he’d take his licks eventually.

His fingers stayed on the back of his neck, present and pointed, but they didn’t stop him when he pushed up the last half-inch to press his lips against Jack’s.

 _Brother-mine?_ Lady queried, startled by the sudden flux through their bond, the sweep of fear leaving in a rush. He could feel her drawing closer, but more immediate was the taste on his tongue and the _mine_ burrowing into his bones.

 _Okay_ , he managed, reassuring, quiet even between the two of them. His arm shook from holding him steady, but he could feel that Jack wouldn’t let him fall.

\--

Anticipation had settled into his bones and left him restless the whole day, making it difficult to stay settled at his post, though with Lady settled next to him, few people dared ventured too close to him throughout the long hours.

At dinner Lady wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t eat, his stomach twisted up in all sorts of knots for reasons he couldn’t name. Being in the middle of the camp made him uncomfortable; there were too many people, too many wolves, and Lady wanted to find somewhere dark and cool to curl up, away from prying eyes and curious noses.

Somewhere she could be hidden. Somewhere safe.

He would have been happy with a crevice in stone, but there were none to be had at headquarters. _Safe_ wasn’t one of the words he could apply to most places in the Commonwealth. None of the Gunner’s nests, not where people could _access--_  

He bit his lip and buried his nose in his scarf, considering it. Lady lay nearby, closer to the edge of the overpass than he dared to walk right now. The view from here was beautiful, honestly; the moon was out low over the horizon, casting the world in silver and lighting up the landscape for  miles all around. It honestly felt close enough to reach out and touch.

If he got any closer to the edge, he was reminded just how far off the ground he was, and the knowledge of it hadn’t bothered him for nearly a year now. He hated that it itched at him again.

...all the wolf-dens backed against the edge of the highway. Lady could feel his apprehension and didn’t want them, but she also didn’t want them because they were open, they could still be invaded, it wasn’t _safe_ there.

He sighed and reached up, running a hand through his hair. No choice then. He reached out through their bond, quiet, and called her name. She washed back with apology, heaving herself up from the stonework. He could feel the weight of pups pull on her like pressure against his own back, shifting and roiling in his own flat belly.

There was truly only one spot they could go where no one could follow them. He didn’t want to, but it was _safe_. It was quiet and dark and secure, with four walls, a ceiling and a door that could lock.

Lady brushed his hip in gratitude, and he dropped his fingers to scratch between her shoulder blades. _It’s okay_ , he promised. But he cast blue eyes out to the rest of the camp, making sure nobody was looking his way. They weren’t; just joking around, eating dinner he couldn’t stand the smell of. Fuck, but he loved radstag too… _Come on, Lady, let’s go._

The door was unlocked, but that wasn’t surprising. Jack’s place might have been the only one to have locks, but he didn’t know them to be used unless there was someone inside. Lady sniffed at the doorway when he pushed it open, passing him the smells; just Jack and him, Adonis and her, no one else. MacCready swallowed hard, but Lady stepped inside, her nose still to the ground as she stepped up the lip and into the shack. He left the light off as he followed her inside, trusting her senses and his memory of location for keep him safe.

He had tested the lock a hundred times. He knew how to make them fall into place; it wasn’t hard. _Locking_ the door was the easy part. Getting out again…

 _Later,_ Lady pressed against his mind, ducking to sniff beneath the bed. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but she whimpered and he could feel a pain in his gut, lingering and not at all his own. She settled down to crawl under the bed, shoving aside rags heavily scented of hubflowers and blood. She didn’t want them, and he couldn’t blame her for that. She wanted the bare floor, cool against her side, and she wanted space to lay out.

She’d wanted safety and now she had it.

He considered the locked door for a few more moments, and then picked his way to the bed to crawl under there with her. There was plenty of space for it; Jack’s bed was far enough off the floor that he could rest on his own side, reach out and pet his girl’s aching belly to try to help. The contact helped a bit, suffusing _not alone_ into the both of them, but the only relief she’d get wouldn’t come yet.

The pains continued, arcing through his body at a steady enough pace that he realized he’d been feeling them for a while now and simply hadn’t noticed. He napped between them, though they became more lancing as time passed and made it continually harder to do so. When it was finally, finally time, the pain coursing through him had him curled over himself, riding it out until there was sweet relief; Lady pressed the whole of it through to him, the sight of a tiny little creature beneath his nose, so small and fragile, fur wet but alive, breathing. He reached out blind, relying on her senses alone as she finished cleaning it’s-- _his_ belly, a short string of umbilical tangled around a hind leg.

There was a tiny body beneath his fingers, and he curled his hands around it on instinct, drawing it up to lay it against her belly, half-wishing the rags were in reach. A cool steel floor was no place for a baby. She licked his hand, half-acknowledgement, part apology, but there was a settled surety in her head that he would keep for now. He relied on that, stroking calloused fingers over him as he hunted for his first meal.

He could feel him, a tiny hungry awareness that MacCready had never felt before, looped to him through Lady in a bond that was nothing like any other. A baby…

There was another soft pain in his side, but Lady stretched her nose over, hunting in the dark to press it against his own. There was a burst of scent, a nest of hubflowers in fresh bloom, a name, _his_ name, the baby’s.

Lady drew away and MacCready’s senses flicked forward, hearing a key slide home in the locks. He felt a bubble of affection in his chest; he should have known the smell would draw him.

_Jack?_

_Safe_ came back to him, even before the door opened. Nails clicked on the steel before the carpet muffled them, sniffing at the foot of the bed briefly. Lady twitched her tail in discomfort and Adonis retreated away from the frame; he and Jack pushed _protecting_ back at them together, though MacCready lost track of them, after, when the pain of their next baby caught him up and that was all he could handle.

The night was long, and he caught snatches of sleep where he could manage. Eventually, finally, Lady pressed him the seventh name, the scent of steel so hot beneath the sun it began to warp, a little girl he knew would be everything her mother was, and Lady made a satisfied sound. He sighed and laid his head against the floor in relief. _Finally_.

His sister licked a stripe of sweat off his forehead. Then she propped herself up to sniff at his belly, where the first little boy and one of his brothers had climbed up on his jacket, and she bumped her nose against his belly. _Fresh-fired rifle and newborn puppies_ , the scent of wet steel and broken water, after-birth and mother’s milk all wrapped up into one, and he knew what she was doing _immediately_.

“..fuck. No way, Lady.”

 _Is your name_ . _Always your name._

“Lady..” _No it wasn’t._

 _Always_ , Lady disagreed, sweet and proper. MacCready had never managed to win an argument with her before, and he didn’t know why he’d manage to start now, but all his protests were rebuffed by that lone phrase, _always your name_.

On the bed above them, he thought he heard Jack laugh.


End file.
